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Delivered from the Oval Office, January 11, 1989
Before I say my formal good-bye, maybe I should tell you what I'm up
to now that I'm out of office. Well, I'm still giving speeches, still
sounding off about those things I didn't get accomplished while I was
president.
High on my agenda are three things. First, I'm out there stumping to
help future presidents - Republican or Democrat - get those tools they
need to bring the budget under control. And those tools are a
line-item veto and a constitutional amendment to balance the budget.
Second, I'm out there talking up the need to do something about
political gerrymandering. This is the practice of rigging the
boundaries of congressional districts. It is the greatest single blot
on the integrity of our nation's electoral system, and it's high time
we did something about it. And third, I'm talking up the idea of
repealing the Twenty-second Amendment, to the Constitution, the
amendment that prevents a president from serving more than two terms.
I believe it's a preemption of the people's right to vote for whomever
they want as many times as they want.
So I'm back where I came in - out there on the mashed potato circuit.
I have a feeling I'll be giving speeches until I'm called to the great
beyond and maybe even after. All it will take is for St. Peter to say,
"Ronald Wilson Reagan, what do you have to say for yourself?
Speak up."
"Well, sir, unaccustomed as I am . . ."
My fellow Americans:
This is the thirty-fourth time I'll speak to you from the Oval Office
and the last. We've been together for eight years now, and soon it'll
be time for me to go. But before I do, I wanted to share some
thoughts, some of which I've been saying for a long time.
It's been the honor of my life to be your president. So many of you
have written the past few weeks to say thanks, but I could say as much
to you. Nancy and I are grateful for the opportunity you gave us to
serve.
One of the things about the presidency is that you're always somewhat
apart. You spend a lot of time going by too fast in a car someone else
is driving, and seeing the people through tinted glass - the parents
holding up a child, and the wave you saw too late and couldn't return.
And so many times I wanted to stop and reach out from behind the
glass, and connect. Well, maybe I can do a little of that tonight.
People ask how I feel about leaving. And the fact is, "parting is
such sweet sorrow." The sweet part is California, and the ranch
and freedom. The sorrow - the good-byes, of course, and leaving this
beautiful place.
You know, down the hall and up the stairs from this office is the part
of the White House where the presidents and his family live. There are
a few favorite windows I have up there that I like to stand and look
out of early in the morning. The view is over the grounds here to the
Washington Monument, and then the Mall and the Jefferson Memorial. But
on mornings when the humidity is low, you can see past the Jefferson
to the river, the Potomac, and the Virginia shore. Someone said that's
the view Lincoln had when he saw the smoke rising from the Battle of
Bull Run. I see more prosaic things: the grass on the banks, the
morning traffic as people mark their way to work, now and then a
sailboat on the river.
I've been thinking a bit at that window. I've been reflecting on what
the past eight years have meant and mean. And the image that comes to
mind like a refrain is a nautical one - a small story about a big
ship, and a refugee and a sailor. It was back in the early eighties,
at the height of the boat people. And the sailor was hard at work on
the carrier Midway, which was patrolling the South China Sea. The
sailor, like most American servicemen, was young, smart, and fiercely
observant. The crew spied on the horizon a leaky little boat. And
crammed inside were refugees from Indochina hoping to get to America.
The Midway sent a small launch to bring them to the ship and safety.
As the refugees made their way through the choppy seas, one spied the
sailor on deck and stood up and called out to him. He yelled,
"Hello, American sailor. Hello, freedom man."
A small moment with a big meaning, a moment the sailor, who wrote it
in a letter, couldn't get out of his mind. And when I saw it, neither
could I. Because that's what it was to be an American in the 1980s. We
stood, again, for freedom. I know we always have, but in the past few
years the world again, and in a way, we ourselves - rediscovered it.
It's been quite a journey this decade, and we held together through
some stormy seas. And at the end, together, we are reaching our
destination.
The fact is, from Grenada to the Washington and Moscow summits, from
the recession of '81 to '82, to the expansion that began in late '82
and continues to this day, we've made a difference. They way I see it,
there were two great triumphs, two things that I'm proudest of. One is
the economic recovery, in which the people of America created - and
filled - 19 million new jobs. The other is the recovery of our morale.
America is respected again in the world and looked to for leadership.
Something that happened to me a few years ago reflects some of this.
It was back in 1981, and I was attending my first big economic summit,
which was held that year in Canada. The meeting place rotates among
the member countries. The opening meeting was a formal dinner for the
heads of government of the seven industrialized nations. Now, I sat
there like the new kid in school and listened, and it was all the
Francois this and Helmut that. They dropped titles and spoke to one
another on a first-name basis. Well, at one point I sort of learned in
an said, "My name's Ron." Well, in that same year, we began
the actions we felt would ignite an economic comeback - cut taxes and
regulation, started to cut spending. And soon the recovery began.
Two years later another economic summit, with pretty much the same
cast. At the big opening meeting we all got together, and all of a
sudden, just for a moment, I saw that everyone was just sitting there
looking at me. And then one of them broke the silence. "Tell us
about the American miracle," he said.
Well, back in 1980, when I was running for president, it was all so
different. Some pundits said our programs would result in catastrophe.
Our views on foreign affairs would cause war. Our plans for the
economy would cause inflation to soar and bring about economic
collapse. I even remember one highly respected economist saying, back
in 1982, that "the engines of economic growth have shut down
here, and they're likely to stay that way for years to come."
Well, he and the other opinion leaders were wrong. The fact is, what
they called "radical" was really "right". What
they called "dangerous" was just "desperately
needed."
And in all of that time I won a nickname, "The Great
Communicator." But I never thought it was my style or the words I
used that made a difference: It was the content. I wasn't a great
communicator, but I communicated great things, and they didn't spring
full bloom from my brow, they came from the heart of a great nation -
from our experience, our wisdom, and our belief in the principles that
have guided us for two centuries. They called it the Reagan
revolution. Well, I'll accept that, but for me it always seemed more
like the great rediscovery, a rediscover of our values and our common
sense.
Common sense told us that when you put a big tax on something, the
people will produce less of it. So, we cut the people's tax rates, and
the people produced more than ever before. The economy bloomed like a
plant that had been cut back and could not grow quicker and stronger.
Our economic program brought about the longest peacetime expansion in
our history: real family income up, the poverty rate down,
entrepreneurship booming, and an explosion in research and new
technology. We're exporting more than ever because American industry
became more competitive and at the same time, we summoned the national
will to knock down protectionist walls abroad instead of erecting them
at home. Common sense also told us that to preserve the peace, we'd
have to become strong again after years of weakness and confusion. So,
we rebuilt our defenses, and this New Year we toasted the new
peacefulness around the globe. Not only have the superpowers actually
begun to reduce their stockpiles of nuclear weapons - and hope for
even more progress is bright - but the regional conflicts that rack
the globe are also beginning to cease. The Persian Gulf is no longer a
war zone. The Soviets are leaving Afghanistan. The Vietnamese are
preparing to pull out of Cambodia, and an American-mediated accord
will soon send 50,000 Cuban troops home to Angola.
The lesson of all this was, of course, that because we're a great
nation, our challenges seem complex. It will always be this way. But
as long as we remember our first principles and believe in ourselves,
the future will always be ours. And something else we learned: Once
you begin a great movement, there's no telling where it will end. We
meant to change a nation, and instead, we changed a world.
Countries across the globe are turning to free markets and free speech
and turning away from the ideologies of the past. For them, the great
rediscovery of the 1980s has been that, lo and behold, the moral way
of government is the practical way of government: Democracy, the
profoundly good, is also profoundly productive.
When you've got to the point when you can celebrate the anniversaries
of your thirty-ninth birthday, you can sit back sometimes, review your
life, and see it flowing before you. For me there was a fork in the
river, and it was right in the middle of my life. I never meant to go
into politics. It wasn't my intention when I was young. But I was
raised to believe you had to pay your way for the blessings bestowed
on you. I was happy with my career in the entertainment world, but I
ultimately went into politics because I wanted to protect something
precious.
Ours was the first revolution in the history of mankind that truly
reversed the course of government, and with three little words:
"We the people." "We the people" tell the
government what to do, it doesn't tell us. "We the people"
are the driver, the government is the car. And we decide where it
should go, and by what route, and how fast. Almost all the world's
constitutions are documents in which governments tell the people what
their privileges are. Our Constitution is a document in which "We
the people" tell the government what it is allowed to do.
"We the people" are free. This belief has been the
underlying basis for everything I've tried to do these past eight
years.
But back in the 1960s, when I began, it seemed to me that we'd begun
reversing the order of things - that through more and more rules and
regulations and confiscatory taxes, the government was taking more of
our money, more of our options, and more of our freedom. I went into
politics in part to put up my hand and say, "Stop." I was a
citizen politician, and it seemed the right thing for a citizen to do.
I think we have stopped a lot of what needed stopping. And I hope we
have once again reminded the people that man is not free unless
government is limited. There's a clear cause and effect here that is
as neat and predictable as a law of physics: As government expands,
liberty contracts.
Nothing is less free than pure communism, and yet we have, the past
few years, forged a satisfying new closeness with the Soviet Union.
I've been asked if this isn't a gamble, and my answer is no because
we're basing our actions not on words but deeds. The détente of the
1970s was based not on actions but promises. They'd promise to treat
their own people and the people of the world better. But the gulag was
still the gulag, and the state was still expansionist, and they still
waged proxy wars in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.
Well, this time, so far, it's different. President Gorbachev has
brought about some internal democratic reforms and begun the
withdrawal from Afghanistan. He has also freed prisoners whose names
I've given him every time we've met.
But life has a way of reminding you of big things through small
incidents. Once, during the heady days of the Moscow summit, Nancy and
I decided to break off from the entourage one afternoon to visit the
shops on Arbat Street - that's a little street just off Moscow's main
shopping area. Even though our visit was a surprise, every Russian
there immediately recognized us and called out our names and reached
for our hands. We were just about swept away by the warmth. You could
almost feel the possibilities in all that joy. But within seconds, a
KGB detail pushed their way toward us and began pushing and shoving
the people in the crowd. It was an interesting moments. It reminded me
that while the man of the street in the Soviet Union yearns for peace,
the government is Communist. And those who run it are Communists, and
that means we and they view such issues as freedom and human rights
very differently.
We must keep up our guard, but we must also continue to work together
to lessen and eliminate tension and mistrust. My view is that
President Gorbachev is different from previous Soviet leaders. I think
he knows some of the things wrong with his society and is trying to
fix them. We wish him well. And we'll continue to work to make sure
that the Soviet Union that eventually emerges from this process is a
less threatening one. What it all boils down to is this. I want the
new closeness to continue. And it will, as long as we make it clear
that we will continue to act in a certain way as long as they continue
to act in a helpful manner. If and when they don't, at first pull your
punches. If they persist, pull the plug. It's still trust but verify.
It's still play, but cut the cards. It's still watch closely. And
don't be afraid to see what you see.
I've been asked if I have any regrets. Well, I do. The deficit is one.
I've been talking a great deal about that lately, but tonight isn't
for arguments. And I'm going to hold my tongue. But an observation:
I've had my share of victories in the Congress, but what few people
noticed is that I never won anything you didn't win for me. They never
saw my troops, they never saw Reagan's regiments, the American people.
You won every battle with every call you made and letter you wrote
demanding action. Well, action is still needed. If we're to finish the
job, Reagan's regiments will have to become the Bush brigades. Soon
he'll be the chief, and he'll need you every bit as much as I did.
Finally, there is a great tradition of warnings in presidential
farewells, and I've got one that's been on my mind for some time. But
oddly enough it starts with one of the things I'm proudest of in the
past eight years: the resurgence of national pride that I called the
new patriotism. This national feeling is good, but it won't count for
much, and it won't last unless it's grounded in thoughtfulness and
knowledge.
An informed patriotism is what we want. And are we doing a good enough
job teaching our children what America is and what she represents in
the long history of the world? Those of us who are over thirty-five or
so years of age grew up in a different America. We were taught, very
directly, what it means to be an American. And we absorbed, almost in
the air, a love of country and an appreciation of its institutions. If
you didn't get these things from your family, you got them from the
neighborhood, from the father down the street who fought in Korea or
the family who lost someone at Anzio. Or you could get a sense of
patriotism from school. And if all else failed, you could get a sense
of patriotism from the popular culture. The movies celebrated
democratic values and implicitly reinforced the idea that America was
special. TV was like that, too, through the midsixties.
But now, we're about to enter the nineties, and some things have
changed. Younger parents aren't sure that an unambivalent appreciation
of America is the right thing to teach modern children. And as for
those who create the popular culture, well-grounded patriotism is no
longer the style. Our spirit is back, but we haven't
reinstitutionalized it. We've got to do a better job of getting across
that America is freedom - freedom of speech, freedom of religion,
freedom of enterprise. And freedom is special and rate. It's fragile;
it needs production [protection].
So, we've got to teach history based not on what's in fashion but
what's important: Why the Pilgrims came here, who Jimmy Doolittle was,
and what those thirty seconds over Tokyo meant. You know, four years
ago on the fortieth anniversary of D day, I read a letter from a young
woman writing of her late father, who'd fought on Omaha Beach. Her
name was Lisa Zanatta Henn, and she said, "we will always
remember, we will never forget what the boys of Normandy did."
Well, let's help her keep her word. If we forget what we did, we won't
know who we are. I'm warning of an eradication of the American memory
that could result, ultimately, in an erosion of the American spirit.
Let's start with some basics: more attention to American history and a
greater emphasis on civic ritual. And let me offer lesson number one
about America: All great change in America begins at the dinner table.
So, tomorrow night in the kitchen I hope the talking begins. And
children, if your parents haven't been teaching you what it means to
be an American, let 'em know and nail 'em on it. That would be a very
American thing to do.
And that's about all I have to say tonight. Except for one thing. The
past few days when I've been at that window upstairs, I've thought a
bit of the "shining city upon a hill." The phrase comes from
John Winthrop, who wrote it to describe the America he imagined. What
he imagined was important because he was an early Pilgrim, an early
freedom man. He journeyed here on what today we'd call a little wooden
boat; and like the other Pilgrims, he was looking for a home that
would be free.
I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't
know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my
mind it was a tall proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans,
wind-swept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living
in harmony and peace, a city with free ports that hummed with commerce
and creativity, and if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors
and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get
here. That's how I saw it, and see it still.
And how stands the city on this winter night? More prosperous, more
secure, and happier than it was eight years ago. But more than that;
after two hundred years, two centuries, she still stands strong and
true on the granite ridge, and her glow has held steady no matter what
storm. And she's still a beacon, still a magnet for all who must have
freedom, for all the pilgrims from all the lost places who are
hurtling through the darkness, toward home.
We've done our part. And as I walk off into the city streets, a final
word to the men and women of the Reagan revolution, the men and women
across America who for eight years did the work that brought America
back. My friends: We did it. We weren't just marking time. We made a
difference. We made the city stronger. We made the city freer, and we
left her in good hands. All in all, not bad, not bad at all. © PoliticalUSA.com, 2001 Today's featured
columns: View expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Political USA.
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